Havoc Continues
by bg Roman
Summary: After their rival gangs' deadly confrontation, Allison, guilt-ridden and fearful for her and her friends' lives, decides she must take action to stop the cycle of revenge and retaliation, sneaking out alone to bargain with Hector. Rated M for language.


**Havoc synopsis:**

White, rich, rebellious, and bored, teenaged Allison (Anne Hathaway), her boyfriend Toby, and their friends Sam and Emily, dress, act, and talk like rappers and ganstas, imitating and celebrating the glamour of the gansta culture with drugs, music, clothing, and language. One day the four drive out of their posh Palisades neighborhood to cruise LA's grungy east side. They stop to buy drugs from Hector (Freddy Rodriguez), the leader of a drug-dealing Latino gang, who threatens and humiliates Toby after he dares accuse Hector of cheating him, only letting him go after Allison begs him to. Not long after, Allison runs into Hector while shopping in an East LA street market and they spend the day together in his neighborhood - not an ugly crowded slum or a no-man's land, he considers it a nice place where his large extended family thrives - and he proudly shows her around until they get picked by police and thrown into jail, suspected of possession. The next morning Allison is released into the custody of her shocked and distressed parents, but her classmates admire her escapade.

Allison, attracted to the sexy and dangerous Hector, brings Emily to a party at Hector's place and, during a drunken game of dice, the girls ask to join the gang. To prove themselves worthy they must sleep with the men, the number of men determined by a roll of the dice. Allison throws a one and chooses Hector, and at first she is compliant, allowing him to kiss her, fondle her, and undress her, but then she chickens out and asks to go, and, although angered by her rejection, Hector lets her leave the room. Emily, who rolled a three, still wants to play the game, and invites Hector, his brother, and his friend, to sleep with her, but she freaks out when they all jump in bed together, not one after the other as she'd expected, and she screams until the men, frustrated and angry, let Allison take her home.

Traumatized, Emily accuses Hector of rape and he is imprisoned. Risking destroying her friendship with Emily, Allison forces her to reveal the truth to keep Hector from being charged. Soon after, Allison learns that Toby and Sam have left, armed and eager to take revenge for Emily's attack, and she phones Toby trying turn them back. But he hangs up on her and continues driving towards Hector's territory. Hector's brother and friend, determined to avenge the false accusation against Hector, drive into the Palisades looking for the girls but end up driving past Toby and Sam, who recognize them. The movie ends by fading to black, accompanied by the sound of squealing tires, shouts, and gunfire.

. . .

**Story blurb:**

After their rival gangs' deadly confrontation, Allison, guilt-ridden and fearful for her and her friends' lives, decides she must take action to stop the cycle of revenge and retaliation, sneaking out alone to bargain with Hector. Rating M for language.

**Havoc Continues**

I killed him, Allison thought, while dressing in front of her bedroom mirror, I killed Hector's brother. Gun. Trigger. Bullet. Murder. Death. She'd done something so bad that even her parents couldn't fix it. It sure got their attention. Her home was a prison now, and it was getting worse by the minute. This afternoon her mother was her taking away. How long, she didn't know. But she had a different plan. This time she wasn't going to let her parents take care of everything. This time she wasn't going to run away from her problems. For the first time in her life she was going to face up to her actions and try to fix it whatever the consequences to herself. She was responsible and she was going to do something about it. She was going to do it today. She checked the time.

Peering in the mirror, Allison twisted herself around, pulling her black knit mini-skirt taut over her bottom. Satisfied she could clearly see the outline of her thong underwear she faced the mirror and tucked in her white low-cut tank top. This was the third top she'd put on, the other two lay discarded in a heap on her bed. Just right, she thought, subdued, but not too much so. She'd slept little the night before, tossing and turning for hours while her mind raced like a roller coaster around and around the same twisting scary track, just like a roller coaster ride through a haunted house, only this haunted house was real. The gruesome bullet-ridden corpse in the house was a real person, someone she knew, and he was really dead. And it was her fault. Guilt. Regret. Remorse. Grief. She'd never felt these terrible emotions so violently before. Wishing she was in a nightmare she could wake from, she finally got up and sat at her desk, writing in her diary until daylight.

Leaning close to the mirror, she stared into her wide brown eyes, baggy and tear-stained, and checked her makeup, taking out a tissue to fix the mascara. God! How could she care about her clothes and her face at a time like this, she wondered. She shoved the wadded up tissue into her purse, then she picked up her diary and slid it under some shoes in the back of her closet. She took several changes of clothes out of the closet and was folding them into a pile on her bed when she heard to the sound of her mother's phone ringing downstairs in the kitchen, and, checking the time again, she listened intently.

Slipping her feet into a pair of ankle-height black boots with silver buckles, she pulled on a short black sweater, picked up her purse, and tiptoed to the top of the staircase. The aroma of chicken soup and murmur of her mother's voice drifted up from the kitchen. It was now or never, she thought, as she stepped down the staircase as quietly as she could in the thick-heeled boots. Brushing her long brown hair back from her ears she listened hard to her mother's conversation, it was yet another call about her taking time off for some unexpected family concerns. Yes, that's what she decided to call the situation, even though it was actually about dragging Allison out of town to prevent her reckless trips to East LA. But it was exactly to East LA where she was determined to go. Only problem was, first she had to get out of the house. Allison descended farther down, shrinking against the wall, almost crouching, and soon she only had a few feet remaining between her and her home's front door, the door to freedom.

"Allison," called her mother suddenly, her voice getting louder on each word as she approached the bottom of the staircase from the kitchen. "Do you want some soup?"

Allison straightened up, hid her purse behind her back, smiled broadly, and turned towards her mother. "Sure, mom. Love some."

"Allison, what are you doing down here?"

"Coming to find you. I'm going to need some things."

"Never mind that, you're supposed to stay upstairs until your father gets back. Go on up, I'll bring you some soup."

"Mom," she coaxed, "let me eat in the kitchen. I have a list of things I need. Can I borrow your suitcase? I want the grey one with the red trim."

"Of course you can, dear. Go eat, and I'll get it for you." Allison's mother headed upstairs.

Allison stepped into the kitchen, clanked a bowl and spoon on the counter, and, hearing her mother's footsteps entering in the closet upstairs, dashed to the front door and slipped out of the house. She jumped in her car, turned the key, and pounded on the gas. Within moments, she was around the corner and out of sight.

. . .

Allison reviewed the directions in her head as she waited at the light. She was on a shabby street deep in East LA and she wasn't familiar with this part of town. Her objective was in the next block so she drove slowly, sweeping her gaze back and forth, left and right. She drove past a police car with an officer inside it, parked on the street opposite of the building, and, spotting a parking space a few car lengths beyond it, cut into it. The spot was mid-block, directly across the street from a low, windowless building, with a dark canopy above a pair of stout metal doors, sandwiched between a parking lot full of cars, and a Laundromat. It was a funeral home, and a cluster of people stood between the parking lot and its doorway. She could see Hector in the middle of them, his long slick hair braided neatly, the sleeves of his long-sleeved dress shirt rolled up revealing his heavily tattooed arms, greeting each arrival with hugs and kisses.

Allison sucked in a breath and stepped out of her car. It was a bad time to see him, of course it was. He would hate her. Why wouldn't he? And he'd hate her more this day than any other. What could she expect? Going to the funeral she caused was going to be hard. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. But she'd decided to make amends and seek forgiveness. She was going to do it.

As she stood by her car's door, she looked left, to the parked police car, then across to Hector. He hadn't noticed her yet. Shaking, she considered leaving. Coming here was a terrible idea. How could it help? What was she thinking? No one had seen her yet. No. No. She was going to do this. She waited until a car was approaching and then jumped almost into its path. Startled, the driver honked and shouted curses, squealing his tires as he swerved around her. Good, she thought, scampering across the street. Now they saw her. Both the police officer's and Hector's eyes were firmly fixed on her.

A black scowl forming on his face, Hector quickly ushered the mourners through the door. When they were gone he turned to Allison, standing at the edge of the curb, blocking her path from the street to the doorway.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay my respects. " Allison swallowed. "I feel so bad. I have to talk to you."

"I don't want you here," growled Hector. "Go. And if you know what's good for you, don't ever come back around here."

"No, don't say that. I'm sorry," cried Allison. "I'm so sorry about your brother. You have to let me explain. Please!"

"You shouldn't be here." Hector jerked his thumb towards the doorway. "There are at least a dozen guys in there, not even including me, who want to kill you."

"It was a terrible mistake! Don't hate me. Won't you let me explain?"

"No!" Hector frowned at her, his fists clenched and eyes blazing. "Not now. Not ever. Just get out of here."

A pair of women, carrying cooing babies and diaper bags, appeared from the parking lot and Hector turned towards them, his expression becoming somber, his posture softening.

As the women greeted and comforted Hector in rapid-fire Spanish, hugging and kissing him, he chucked their babies under their chins and tried to avoid thinking about how these sweet baby boys' lives might also be cut short by the same terrible, senseless violence as his brother's life had been, and as so many others of his friends and acquaintances before that. It went on and on, he thought, back into the past, forward into the future, an endless series of useless, meaningless deaths. Today it was his beloved brother's turn to be buried, a man he respected and trusted, his loyal business partner. He felt the loss deeply and had labored long over his heartfelt eulogy. It made him sick. His poor brother, dead, gunned down in the street by a fucking idiot because of a bitch called Allison.

Allison stood beside Hector and the women turned from him to her, and, although surprised to see a stranger, greeted her as warmly as they would a friend.

When the women left them to go inside, Hector's face darkened and he advanced towards Allison, glowering. "Still here? Aren't you going? You're not welcome here."

Allison turned her eyes towards the police car and met the officer's gaze. She had hoped this particular funeral, the funeral of a known drug dealer and gang member, might be under surveillance. She felt a lot safer knowing a police officer was observing the proceedings. Hector frowned as his eyes followed Allison's to the police car.

"Please forgive me. Can't I go in?" wheedled Allison, looking to Hector. "I came to pay my respects."

"So, let me get this straight." Hector's face was black from rage. He dug a pack of cigarettes out of his rolled up sleeve, opened it, fumbled with the package in his shaking fingers until he finally plucked one out. "Your boyfriend kills my brother. And you want to go to the funeral?"

"Ex-boyfriend," said Allison. "I didn't want this to happen. I tried to stop him. I tried! You have to let me explain."

"And, not only do you get my brother killed, you accuse me of rape!" Hector spat on the ground, narrowly missing Allison's boot.

Allison stepped back until she was nearly teetering on the edge of the curb. "I want to explain," she cried.

Belligerent, Hector said, "What is there to explain? Just go!"

"I didn't accuse you," said Allison. "Emily did."

"You," huffed Hector in disgust, "or Emily. What difference does it make? I fuck her, she fucks me. That's the way it goes."

"I stopped her," said Allison, putting her hands on Hector's chest and pushing him back so she wouldn't fall into the street. "She recanted."

"She what?" said Hector, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"She lied. I made her admit she lied. They know it wasn't rape. That's why you're out. Didn't they tell you?"

"No. I didn't know why I got out. They let me out but they didn't tell me anything," said Hector, looking over Allison's shoulder to the police car. "I was wondering if he was waiting until after to pick me up again."

"Listen. You didn't fuck me and I didn't fuck you. You can trust me."

Hector snorted, "Yeah, sure. Why did you come here?"

"For the funeral. Hector, I'm sorry, so sorry. I want you to forgive me."

Hector glanced up, forgetting the cigarette in his hand, with a flicker of admiration in his eye at her bravado, foolish though it was.

A grey-haired women approached them from the parking lot and Hector spoke at length with her in hushed Spanish. The old women kept gesturing at Allison so she knew they were talking about her.

"My aunt Bianca. Allison." Hector introduced them to each other with a courteous wave of his hand. Bianca kissed Allison and looked at Hector expectantly, waiting. Hector frowned. "My aunt invites you to a reception after. I said you regret you can't make it."

Allison kissed Hector's aunt in return, and recited, "Buenos dias," in a sing-song voice, exhausting her Spanish vocabulary in one phrase. Bianca hugged Allison warmly, pleased by her simple greeting, and went inside.

"I gotta go in," said Hector, turning away. "They're waiting for me. Go. I never want to see you again."

"Wait." Allison grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "I did my best to stop Toby. Anyway, he's in jail, they know he did it. He'll pay for it. He'll pay for what he did to your brother."

"You think?" said Hector, turning his face back to her and raising his eyebrows. "A rich white boy? Offs a worthless drug-dealing scumbag?" Disgust strangled his voice. "He's a fucking hero. His slime-ball lawyers will get his sorry ass out before you can blink. For me, they throw away the key, for him, out. That's how it goes. Oh, but he'll pay for it. That shit'll be dead. You tell him he's better off staying in."

"No, please," pleaded Allison. "I have to stop that. I have to explain it to you. Toby was mistaken. It was a mistake. Don't kill him."

"I can't control everybody." Hector glared at her, put the cigarette in his lips and lit it. He puffed, blowing smoke into her face. "What happens, happens. So. You going to go now?"

Suddenly, the piercing wail of a siren screamed in their ears, and the police car jerked into traffic and sped off.

The officer gone, Allison felt a cold shiver of doubt sweep through her, paralyzing her, and her nervousness showed on her face.

Hector tilted his head towards the missing police car. "You miss him?" His lip's curved up into a wicked smirk. "I guess it's time for you to run away."

"No! I'm not going," insisted Allison, pulling her sweater around her as if the thin fabric could protect her. "I want to be here. _You_ want me here."

"I do?" said Hector, stepping forward again, forcing her to step back to the edge of the curb. He tilted his head back and looked down his nose at her. "Why?"

"Look, I can help you."

"You?" Hector chuckled. "Help me? I don't think so."

"I can help you. I want to be with you," pleaded Allison. "I want to be in your gang."

"Why?" sneered Hector, amused and contemptuous, deliberately provoking her. "Why you want in my gang?"

"I want in ... and ..." Allison focused her wide, liquid brown eyes on his. "I feel guilty and I want you to forgive me." This plea and look had worked on him before. The look was well-practiced, perfected, she used it a lot.

"If I let you in, what would you do?" He leered at her, apparently unaffected by her sad eyes, putting his hand on her shoulder, running a finger under the strap of her tank top crudely, suggestively. "Work a corner? You can't do it, can you?"

"No."

"I know you can't. So, why you want in the gang?" It was ridiculous, absurd. It was as though a French poodle wanted to live in wolf territory. She wouldn't last a minute. "What you want with me?"

"Because you make me feel ..." Allison voiced trailed off as she shrugged, pulling her shoulder away. "You make me feel."

Hector dropped his hand. He was annoyed because he was curious. What did she feel? She didn't continue, finally he prompted her. "Feel ...?"

"Yes. feel ..." She was so tired of being bored. Boredom was death. She hated it. She'd discovered being with Hector was the antidote. When she was with him, she was alive.

Hector leaned in close, irritated, becoming even more annoyed because he was revealing his curiosity. He wanted to know. "Feel ... what?"

"I feel!" shouted Allison, tugging on a strand of hair in frustration. How could she put the mystery into words? Her life was fake. His was real. "That's all. You make me feel. Feelings. Real feelings. I like you. I want you to forgive me. I don't want you to hate me."

Hector's sister poked her head out of the doorway and said, "Come on. They want to start."

"Un minuto," answered Hector, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "I just need another minute."

Hector's sister disappeared inside.

"If you like me," Hector's piercing gaze studied her face, "then why'd you run away, ah? That night."

"I didn't want it to be like that."

"Like what?"

Allison bit her lip and looked down. "Meaningless."

"So ... you want me now?"

"No. I don't know. Forgive me. Let me be in your gang."

"What would you do in a gang?"

"I don't want a corner," said Allison. "But I can sell. I can move your stuff in the Palisades."

"Not interested." Hector flicked the cigarette off his finger and ground it under his heel, hard into the pavement. "Go home. Don't come back."

"I can make you double, triple, in there, more..." Allison's eyes gleamed and she gestured enthusiastically. "Let me try. I can do this. Come on, Hector, it's easy money. All of it for you, if you'll just forgive me. I can go to the school, the mall, the Cineplex, places you can't."

Intrigued, Hector studied her face with her wide mobile lips, and eyes like pools of dark chocolate. The sensual memory of nuzzling into the nape of her sweet neck forced itself into his mind, the delicious fragrant silkiness of her hair and skin on his cheek and lips. No, he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't even think of it. He would not disrespect his brother's memory by associating with her. His brother would never do that to him. Certainly it had nothing to do with the fact that by joining his gang she would probably get herself killed and he didn't want her to die. No. She could go to hell for all he cared.

"No. I said I'm not interested," growled Hector, his face reddening. "You better go, before I get mad and kill you by accident."

"I have a plan. A good plan. Let me stay and afterwards I'll explain it."

"How about if I explain this," said Hector, leaning in, pushing his face into hers, he put his hand on her shoulder, hidden under the curtain of her hair, cupping it around her neck.

Allison looked at him steadily, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the disgusting reek of cigarette smoke, sweat, and greasy hair.

Hector wrapped his powerful hand around her neck, pressing his thumb against her left carotid artery, the direct link from her heart to her brain, cutting its flow. "Maybe this'll convince you."

"Please, don't," said Allison, widening her pleading eyes.

It'd take less than fifteen seconds, he estimated, before she'd cave in or faint. Either way he'd be done with her. One. He counted in his head. Two. He breathed into her face, "Say you're going." Three. "I'm waiting." Four. Bitch deserved a good fright.

Trembling, Allison shook her head, gazing straight into his eyes.

Five. Close those pretty eyes. Six. Annoying eyes. Seven. Annoying sad eyes. Eight. Close them now.

Allison whimpered and closed her eyes. Hector's grip was a steel clamp tightening around her neck.

Nine. "Are you're going?"

She shook her head, a small movement, eyes squeezed shut. She tried to think. How could she get through to Hector if he wouldn't even talk to her?

Stubborn bitch. Ten. Come on. Eleven. Say it.

Allison hissed, "I wouldn't do that."

Popping her eyes open wide, her expression became fierce and her eyes shone hard at him, glossy like lacquer.

It was like a girl in a pink tutu had turned into a man in battle fatigues right before him. Startled, Hector released the pressure of his thumb. "What?"

"I wouldn't do that," rasped Allison, glaring into Hector's face.

"Why not?" Disbelief rang in Hector's voice. He was shocked by her steely determined face. He relaxed his hand.

"I wrote in my diary about you. If anything happens to me they'll come after you."

"What?" Hector was astounded by Allison's tactic. "Wrote _what_?"

"One word from me and they'll put you away. Same as Emily. You want your sorry ass inside and no key?"

"Fuck it!" exclaimed Hector. "You have a death wish or something? You trying to blackmail me?"

Allison pushed Hector back a step and pulled her sweater tightly around her. "I prefer to think of it as insurance. So you won't want anything to happen to me. Let me stay."

"No. And if you don't want anything to happen to you," said Hector gruffly, "then stay the fuck out of East LA!"

"Fine, then," huffed Allison, fresh out of ideas. "Have it your way. Fuck you."

"Go to hell," replied Hector and he turned to the doorway, disappearing inside.

The dreary prospect of returning to her boring home, to her poser friends, and to her lame parents, and to their stupid plan to rehabilitate her, depressed her. She hadn't gotten anywhere with Hector. He still hated her. She still felt guilty, her friends' lives were still in danger, nothing was the way she wanted it to be. Scalding tears brimmed in her eyes as she turned to cross the street. Wiping away the angry, frustrated tears, she stepped out towards her car, snagging the heel of her boot on the curb and tripping headlong into the path of a van. Honking, the driver swerved, his breaks squealing, and he yelled at her out his open window, shouting curses at her and calling her a drunken whore. Allison looked up to see the car behind the van bearing down on her, fast. She screamed and fainted.

Hector heard the honking, the shouting, and Allison's scream and turned around to find her sprawled in the street, cars swerving around her. He sprinted to her side, scooped her up, and lifted her to the sidewalk, sitting her down and supporting her back with his arm. Unconscious, Allison's head flopped against his shoulder. Hector looked up and down the street trying to figure out what had happened but the traffic continued on, no one had stopped. A drunk lying on the street wasn't that unusual in this neighborhood.

"You okay?" He patted her wet flaccid face, vainly trying to get a response. Her closed eyes, and the complete lack of movement in her slack face and limp body, gave him a horrible thought. His heart froze. Not another death. No more deaths, please God, not another one.

"Allison!" Hector yelled into her ear. How far was it to the hospital? "Wake up!" Too far. Call nine-one-one. What had happened? Call now. Did he use too much pressure? Too long? Hector reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Allison!" Still nothing. Was she hit by a car? No movement. Nothing. God, he wanted her to open her eyes! Frantic, Hector put his ear to her chest but couldn't hear anything over the sound of blood pounding in his skull. He tore open her sweater and pressed his ear onto her breast.

Whump! Hector was on his back, stunned, arms over his head, dodging side to side. Allison had scrambled over him and, as she rained blows down, she yelled, "Fucking perv! Get off me!"

She stood above him, ready to boot him where it would hurt, as soon as she got an opportunity.

Seeing her threatening stance, Hector curled up into a ball. "Stop it! I was trying to help you."

"Oh, _really_," said Allison, skeptical, but ceasing her attack. "You call _that_ help?"

"I'm not a medic." Hector stretched out on his back holding his hands up in surrender, showing her his phone. "See? I was just about to call nine-one-one. What happened?"

"I tripped," said Allison stiffly. "I tripped and fell."

Relieved, Hector chuckled and sat up. Allison was full of surprises today. She wasn't so phony as he'd thought, and, Jesus, she really had an arm on her. As he scrambled to his feet, his chuckle grew into a full belly laugh.

"You think I'm funny?" said Allison, mortified. She got out a tissue, blew her nose, wiped her face, straightened her sweater and her shoulders. "Can't even cross the street. Huh? Practically got run over. That's funny?"

"No," said Hector, coughing, patting her back. "Not funny. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks for helping me," said Allison archly. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," said Hector, his gaze lingered on her chocolate eyes. It was such a delight to see her beautiful face lively and animated again.

"Hey, everyone's waiting." Hector's sister came out to Allison and clasped her hand, leading her to the door. "You have to come in now."

"Too bad she can't stay," said Hector. "She was just going."

"Oh," said Hector's sister soothingly. She observed Allison's distressed tear-stained face and squeezed her hand. "You okay, honey? It's too bad you can't stay."

"I can stay," said Allison, glancing at Hector. "I mean, I could. Whatever you say."

"She says she can stay," said Hector in a tone of baffled wonder.

"Then let's go in," said Hector's sister, leading Allison gently.

Allison put her hand on Hector's arm. "Are we going in?"

Flabbergasted, Hector stared down at her pale slender hand resting on his tattooed olive skin, fascinated by the incongruous sight, like a delicate magnolia petal lying on a tangle of weeds.

Dazed, Hector looked up at Allison and said, "Yeah, ah. I guess we're going in."


End file.
